Lest We Forget
by Jotunheim Storm
Summary: "People like Jim don't cry. It isn't because they are emotionless murderers. It isn't because they are afraid of judgement. It isn't because they want to retain their masculinity. They don't cry because they have no more tears left to cry." Jim has to cope with Armistice Day, but first he has to learn to forgive himself.


_The living owe it to those who no longer can speak to tell their story for them ~ Czeslaw Milosz_

* * *

Sometimes you must lose everything to gain it again, and the regaining is the sweeter for the pain of loss.

Jim's father stressed such things to him when he was still a child, when his father was still alive and everything seemed right in the world.

But his father's firm but loving hand is no longer here to guide him, his words cannot find him and his kindness cannot pull him up from the hole Jim has found himself in lately. Jim has found himself in the consuming darkness, the darkness his father is no longer there to save him from.

Being alone is something people have to get used in this life, but the thing Jim had never come to terms with is the isolation he feels despite the fact he is surrounded by other people who care for him.

That is still the strangest feeling of all, the emptiness that sits at the bottom of his stomach. The agony for companionship that no one in Gotham seemed to understand. The way his pain and regret bubbled up inside of him, and every time he tried to explain himself, and why he has always felt so disconnected from everyone else. The words just died in his throat.

Like the way his squadron died.

Coming home from war is hard enough, coming home from war alone is the worst brutality Jim Gordon has ever faced. A silent brutality he has to bear alone.

Silence is probably one of the worst things about coming home alone, the silence of the plane that brought him back to Gotham. The silence at his squadron's funerals. The silent distress that haunts his every move.

Over the years Jim built up walls. Walls to save guard his heart from any more pain, any more suffering. The walls he built are made from the toughest titanium and the strongest cement. These walls are not meant to be scaled, these walls are meant to protect Jim while he spent the rest of his life protecting others.

Jim knows he isn't alone, he knows full well he can talk to his friends and they would happily listen. He knows he could call up Alfred who too served in the army but he doesn't. Jim never lets anyone in. In fear of them being hurt, in fear of him being hurt.

In fear of showing weakness.

* * *

He loved Barbara once, dearly even. But just as he should have known, she too became endangered and eventually stood in front of him as an enemy.

So he built his walls higher, higher than before.

He has to protect people, so he thought locking them out would keep them safe. He was wrong, however much he pushed them away, they would come back and the walls would crumble again.

He loved Lee, he thought if he loved her enough she would understand his regimented ways and his fear. The fear that stalked him night and day. But her fear was stronger than her love for him. And Jim is back to square one, trying to rebuild the walls to keep his shattered heart out of sight.

People like Jim don't cry.

It isn't because they are emotionless murderers. It isn't because they are afraid of judgement. It isn't because they want to retain their masculinity. They don't cry because they have no more tears left to cry.

All of Jim's tears soaked into the dry dirt of the battle field. All of Jim's tears were sobbed into the lifeless bodies of his friends. All of Jim's tears were left in the trenches.

* * *

Jim sits alone, today of all days, he sits alone. Today is Veterans' Day or as it's known to the Commonwealth, Armistice Day. He sits alone in the precinct, in the black leather chair. He sits alone with his thoughts, his head in his hands.

Every Veterans' Day, Jim comes into work early, and stays late. He comes up with any excuse, all excuses for why he can't go to the celebration of the lives of soldiers and the team alongside them. This year, he has too many case notes to go, Jim ignored the raised eyebrow from Harvey the day before.

Jim looks up, somewhat perturbed to the sound of the opening door at such an ungodly hour. He hears the pattering footsteps and smells the faint scent of honey. He sees her almost instantly, she walks with an air of authority as she approaches him in the early morning. She is wearing a dress with a full flared skirt, and has a high neck at the front and back which creates an extremely classy and elegant look. The white dress is covered by large red poppies and around her waist she wears a thin black belt. On her feet she wears a pair of red flats and in her hand she carries a blue handbag. Her short blonde hair, riddled with aqua highlights is pushed back into a messy bun and her pink tinted lips are upturned into a smile. The last thing Jim notices about her is the long silver chain around her neck, at the end of this chain is a silver poppy, much like the ones on her dress.

"Skye, what are you doing here so early?" Jim asks her, still confused by why she would need to be in so early. Then again many things about Skye confuse him, like how she remains so perky in such an awful city and why she moved here in the first place. Also how she constantly retains that honey scent.

She beams at him as she walks up the stairs to the elevated platform where he is. She pulls up one of the black leather chairs towards him and Jim gives her a soft smile. _She always had a way about her that just makes me want to smile._

"I could ask you the same thing detective," she laughs, her laughter like rings of bells. "Stupidly, I left all of my case notes here over night and I had to get in to complete them before the deadline."

Jim nods looking down to his feet as he tries to fight the clouding over of his eyes from tears. He realises Skye has noticed when she entwines their fingers together. _Don't get close to her, you'll hurt her. You always hurt them._

"Jim, what's wrong?" her voice is full of concern and he dares not to meet her caramel eyes, in fear of seeing pity. Jim has always hated pity.

When Jim refuses to respond to her simple question, she places her other hand on his cheek and this time he looks up to the young English criminologist. Her tanned features do not wear the pity Jim so despised, her features were relaxed, open and unjudging. One of the many things that Jim had come to love about her.

"Harvey said you always come in early and work late on Veterans' Day… You were in the army weren't you?" she deduced. He had never told her that, either she is an extremely good judge of character or she can just piece together a puzzle.

* * *

Jim nods slowly, still not being able to speak the words he wants to. He wants to tell her everything, all the pain, all the regret and all the rage. But he can't, he never can. His words always die in his throat.

"Tell me what happened out there, tell me why you won't let me or Harvey or _anyone_ else in," she begs with him. "Let me in. Let me help you. You spend your whole life saving others, Jim. For once, please, let me save you."

He thinks for one moment, knowing full well Skye doesn't back down from a challenge. He knows he has to tell her, he knows he has to break the walls around his heart and let someone in.

"When I was out there in the field, my squadron and I had to infiltrate an enemy base. I was the leader of the squadron and I led them to the base so we could disable all of their weapons and free the captives they were holding. I was a few metres back in a truck with a designator to explode it all after my men were out," he begins.

And then he is back there, back in the dust covered wasteland. He can breathe in the scent of sweat that hangs to the air, he can smell the fresh metallic scent of blood and he is almost suffocated by the dirt and the dust.

"But it was a trap, there were no captives, no weapons, nothing. It was just like the rest of the wasteland. Before I could get my troops out of there… It was exploded, right before me. All of the men and women in there… They all died and I survived. I killed them Skye, I let them die… I come back as a war hero but no one has ever understood what we lost. They say, they say it's their job. They know the risks. But they're still people, one of the women had just got married. Another had new born twins. New born twins that will never see their father because he's gone. New born twins that will grow up without their father because I couldn't save him. A man, who has to live without his wife for the rest of his life because I killed her. And I remember all of them, every single one. Their names, everything. And they never leave me alone, I see them… I see them! Every time I close my eyes and I can't sleep because they never leave me."

And then he sees it, the one sight that haunts his days and his night. A fiery eruption of light and sound spraying dusty debris into the air and annihilating everything within its radius. The amber shades of the fire swallowed the base whole, taking his men with him.

"I killed them Skye, I killed them… I'm no hero, I never have been."

Skye sighs, as a silent tear trickles down her cheek, splashing against the fabric of her pleated dress. Slowly and surely, Skye brings her lips to the cheek of the detective. She presses a light kiss to his skin, a light kiss that reminds him of where he is. Reminding him that he is no longer on the battle field.

"Commander Ethan Douglas Hunter, Victoria Cross," she says bluntly after pulling away from him.

Jim knows that name, but he can't remember where from and why.

"Ethan is my older brother, a Commander in the Royal Marines. He managed to save a fleet of captives and three members of his squadron from the enemy. He was awarded that Victoria Cross later that year. He was awarded it posthumously," she tells him, her voice wobbling as she speaks slowly to him. "The worst thing was for me, that he was the only one who didn't come home. Everyone got their family back but mine died out there, along with all the fun we once had… You're not alone Jim. Don't ever tell yourself that you are. Armistice Day is for remembrance for people like Ethan, the people in your squadron, for the people that died. And the ones left behind like you and me. Jim, you never have to suffer alone, and you never have to suffer in silence. Do you know why? Because I won't let you."

Jim slowly brings his lips to Skye's cupping her face in his hand. He presses his lips to hers and she kisses him back softly, he feels a bubbling warmth seep through every fibre or his body. For once in his life, he knows he is not alone. She pulls apart, putting her forehead to his as Jim smiles bashfully.

* * *

They stand in the rain, side by side. They are all different, black, white, straight, gay, men and women. But they are all connected, through their loss, through their sacrifice. They are one in the same.

"With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,

England mourns for her dead across the sea.

Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,

Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal

Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.

There is music in the midst of desolation

And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,

Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,

They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;

They sit no more at familiar tables of home;

They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;

They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,

Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,

To the innermost heart of their own land they are known

As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,

Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,

As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,

To the end, to the end, they remain."

And that day Jim finally learnt, that he is never alone.

* * *

 _Lest We Forget._

* * *

 **Today is Armistice Day in the Commonwealth, and America it's Veterans' day. I wanted to write something to show my support for it but I also wanted to incorporate one of my favourite characters, so I came up with this.**

 **I wanted to write about Jim's experiences as they have never really been explored. I hope this answers some questions about Jim's rather mysterious background. For those of you that don't know, Skye is an OC of mine, in my story _Riddles of Passion._ Go read it if you get the chance.**

 **So on this day, please remember those that died and continue to die, so we may live.**

 **Lest We Forget**

 **~I've been Jotunheim Storm~**

 **Thanks xoxo**


End file.
